riosity raged like a mania. They invaded the
cellars of the house, and, bringing up bottles of the old man's choice
wine, kept up a continual carouse. Surrounding Mr. Duane, who had been
present at Mr. Girard's death, and remained to direct his funeral,
they demanded to know if there was a will. To silence their indecent
clamor, he told them there was, and that he was one of the executors.
On hearing this, their desire to learn its contents rose to fury. In
vain the executors reminded them that decency required that the will
should not be opened till after the funeral. They even threatened
legal proceedings if the will were not immediately produced; and at
length, to avoid a public scandal, the executors consented to have it
read. These affectionate relatives being assembled in a parlor of the
house in which the body of their benefactor lay, the will was taken
from the iron safe by one of the executors.[2]

When he had opened it, and was about to begin to read, he chanced to
look over the top of the document at the company seated before him. No
artist that ever held a brush could depict the passion of curiosity,
the frenzy of expectation, expressed in that group of pallid faces.
Every individual among them expected to leave the apartment the
conscious possessor of millions, for no one had dreamed of the
probability of his leaving the bulk of his estate to the public. If
they had ever heard of his saying that no one should be gentleman upon
his money, they had forgotten or disbelieved it. The opening
paragraphs of the will all tended to confirm their hopes, since the
bequests to existing institutions were of small amount. But the reader
soon reached the part of the will which assigned to ladies and
gentlemen present such trifling sums as five thousand dollars, ten
thousand, twenty thousand; and he arrived erelong at the sections
which disposed of millions for the benefit of great cities and poor
children. Some of them made not the slightest attempt to conceal their
disappointment and disgust. Men were there who had married with a view
to share the wealth of Girard, and had been waiting years for his
death. Women were there who had looked to that event as the beginning
of their enjoyment of life. The imagination of the reader must supply
the details of a scene which we might think dishonored human nature,
if we could believe that human nature was meant to be subjected to
such a strain. It had been better, perhaps, if the